


Ballroom Dancing

by millijayne13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Happy Ending, Healer Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Professor Neville Longbottom, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Slow Dancing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13
Summary: Request: Neville x One Bed trope x Malfoy Manor?? Is this possible??
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Original Character(s), Neville Longbottom/Original Female Character(s), Neville Longbottom/Reader
Kudos: 43





	Ballroom Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> Warnings: drinking - all characters are of age, mutual pining - heavy make out session, allusions to sex.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed!!

In the years preceding the Second Wizarding War, Malfoy Manor had been a cold, dark place that seemed to shun any attempt at happiness. The atmosphere surrounding the manor repelled the friendship of many a witch and wizard wanting to help the family.

Following the years after the war, Narcissa Malfoy made it her mission to reform the Malfoy reputation within the wizarding community. She set up charities as well as donating to many that helped those displaced by the tragedies of war, and funded starter packs for witches and wizards who wanted to leave the magical community and relocate to muggle life.

It was for this charitable cause that you find yourself handing your invitation over to the doorman before entering the grand manor; following the crowd of people to the ballroom.

You resist rolling your eyes; of course Malfoy Manor would have a ballroom. Draco was well taught in the area of classical dances; a secret he spilled to you in confidence over one too many tumblers of firewhisky.

Swiping a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, you glide further into the ballroom. It’s hard not to be impressed by the sheer scale of tonight’s event – Narcissa having pulled out all the stops to impress her guests and raise money for the charity she holds so close to her heart.

You spot Narcissa talking to what appears to be a very wealthy couple. She nods her head to you in greeting and you offer her a small wave in return, understanding just how busy she would be tonight.

Slowly, you make your way around the room. Your eyes run over everything; the centrepieces, the orbs of light that illuminate the large room, and you can’t help but be enamoured by the powerful scent of flora tied in with something akin to citrus that perfumes the room.

However, your eyes constantly return to the dancefloor on which couples – both young and old – hold their partners tightly as they twirl around the parquet floor. Watching them dance takes you back to another night; a similar night in your teens where you had danced the night away with a boy who held you as if you were made of glass and who smelled like freshly fallen rain and cut grass.

The memory leaves you bereft and finishing your glass of champagne before quickly reaching for another.

Your gaze doesn’t leave the dancefloor, even as you catch sight of Draco waltzing with a brunette. Your feet begin to move as if entirely independent from the rest of your body; taking you closer and closer to the dancefloor.

Just before the edge, you stop. You bite your lip against the wave of embarrassment washing over you; it was all well and good entering the dancefloor, but who were you to dance with?

Taking a long sip of your drink, you tap your foot along to the beat of the music; studiously ignoring the rising jealousy within you, aimed towards all couples that have that special someone to dance with on occasions such as this.

Yearning grows inside you; flooding your veins as you watch the couples spin faster.

Another waiter passes; another drink is in your hand.

“Would you like to dance?” A voice asks from behind you.

Spinning around, you almost drop your glass as you come face to face with Neville Longbottom.

“What?” You ask; dumbfounded that he should be stood in front of you all these years later and look this good.

Raking your eyes over his body in a quick once over, you realise that age really does become some people.

It seemed that Neville Longbottom welcomed it gracefully. His deep brown hair pushed back from his face; blue eyes as bright as ever as his body fills out his fitted suit nicely.

“I asked,” Neville says with a small smirk, “Whether you would like to dance.”

It could have been your hormones – set alight at Neville’s presence – or it could have been your third glass of champagne, but you find yourself nodding at the man, gently placing your empty glass on the closest table.

Neville’s hand sits on your lower back as he leads you onto the dancefloor. There, his grip becomes firmer, pulling you closer to his body as his other hand holds yours.

As you place your hand on his shoulder, you’re happy to find that even after all this time, the smell of freshly fallen rain and mown grass still lingers on his skin.

The band strikes up a new song as Neville begins to lead you around the dancefloor in a medium paced dance. Looking into his eyes, you ask, “Where did you learn to dance like this?”

“Grandma insisted on some dance lessons as a child, but also McGonagall at Hogwarts.”

“It looks like they’ve paid off,” You comment lightly as Neville leads you in the familiar 1,2,3 of a waltz.

“I’ve had no complaints so far,” Neville says; voice soft and eyes earnest.

“Dance with many, do you Neville?” You tease.

He shakes his head; stopping you abruptly as a couple cuts in front of you – dancing a tango to a song clearly meant for a waltz.

“I haven’t danced with anyone since the Yule Ball,” Neville eventually replies; eyes focused over your shoulder, watching the tangoing couple leave the dancefloor.

You drop your eyes from his face, instead, focusing on the buttons of his pale blue shirt. His words ignite conflicting emotions within you; elation at the fact that he’s danced with no-one else but you since the Yule Ball, but also, sadness at the lingering note of want he so desperately tried to disguise in his voice.

For so long, you’ve loved Neville. For so long, you’ve burned with the knowledge as you kept it hidden.

Neville interrupts your internal torment with another question. The song has finished now, but Neville keeps tight hold of you as the next song starts and he asks softly, “Have you? Danced with many?”

The answer to this is easy. You shake your head, “I haven’t found anyone good enough.”

If possible, Neville’s hand on the small of your back feels firmer as if your words have boosted his confidence.

For the rest of the song, neither of you speak, content enough to remain in each other’s arms as the band continues to play. Around you, couples continue to dance but your jealousy from earlier is nowhere to be found.

As the third song finishes and Neville begins to slow, you look up at him, “I’m feeling a little dizzy,” you whisper.

“Perhaps we should stop,” Neville murmurs; entranced by your eyes.

You look on either side of you, smiling, “We have come to a stop.”

Neville blinks; the realisation settling in with a warm blush, “So we have. Shall we get a drink?”

You nod; wrapping your arm through the crook of his elbow as he leads you from the dancefloor to the bar where he orders for the both of you.

The cold glass of champagne does nothing to help the dizziness, but it does help with the nerves you’re still experiencing at the hands of Neville Longbottom.

“How have you been?” He asks, “Since we finished school.”

You smile at him, “I’ve been good. I trained with Draco at St. Mungo’s – we work together as Healers.”

Neville’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline, “A Healer?”

You nod your head, “I have been for the last three years. What about you? What are you doing now?”

“I teach up at Hogwarts. I took over from Sprout teaching Herbology.”

You clap your hands together in happiness, “Neville! That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah, it is,” Neville murmurs, letting silence fall between the two of you.

It’s hard to keep your eyes off him, you realise. He’s aged so well and the suit he’s wearing fits him so wonderfully that it leaves very little to your imagination. It’s hard to keep your feelings for the Herbologist in check, truthfully. Having managed to do so over the last few years; them diminishing slightly but seeing him here tonight has them returning in full force and knocking you breathless from the sheer strength of them.

However, it seems that Neville has a harder time keeping his eyes off you. As you take a sip of champagne; the bubbles exploding on your tongue, you can feel his eyes rake over your bare legs – only emphasised by the heels you decided to wear tonight knowing full well you would regret it in the morning.

By the time Neville meets your eyes again, your breathing has slowed to match the simmer of anticipation curling in your gut. He takes his time to meet your eyes, however, his gaze trailing over every inch of your body.

If you weren’t in a crowded room with so many people including work colleagues and ministry officials, you would be straddling his lap and pulling him into a kiss.

But you are, so you settle for bracing your elbows on the table and pressing your thighs together.

Conversation picks up once more, Neville asking you about your profession and your family but the charged energy between the two of you cannot be ignored. As the conversation continues, you find yourself leaning into him more, lightly touching his arm in flirtatious moves that he definitely registers.

You open your mouth to address your feelings; the alcohol boosting your confidence, but you get interrupted by a rogue Draco Malfoy.

“Neville! (Y/N)! I knew you would find each other!”

You laugh, “Draco, how much have you had to drink?”

He laughs, holding his fingers up and pinching them together, “Not a lot. See, this much.”

You snort, “It’s a good job you’re not on tomorrow. Janice would have your head.”

Draco smirks, “Janice isn’t here though.”

You shake your head, “No, but I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

His mouth drops open, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would, especially since you’ve interrupted mine and Neville’s conversation.”

“You mean your flirting.”

You duck your head; refusing to look in Neville’s direction, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Draco rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, “Oh please, you had the biggest crush on him at school.”

“Draco!” You shout; mortified.

He holds his hands up in surrender; swaying slightly. He shrugs, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, “Well you’re both staying tonight so who knows what will happen…”

You hold your head in your hands, groaning, “Draco…”

He laughs, “I’m going. I’m sure I’ll see you both in the morning.”

You watch him leave with a mortified expression on your face; wanting nothing more than the ground to swallow you up whole.

A hand on your shoulder has you meeting blue eyes and a kind smile. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that,” you apologise.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Neville asks, “We’re both staying the night.”

You nod your head; taking his outstretched hand.

On the walk to the guest bedrooms, Neville turns to you, “You know I had the biggest crush on you in Hogwarts.”

“You did?” You ask; shocked.

“I did,” He confirms; his hand squeezing yours.

“I never knew…” You whisper.”

He shrugs, answering in kindness, “I never knew about you.”

You nod your head and bite your lip, “Which room are you in? Draco gave me the third door on the right.”

Neville laughs suddenly, “It seems I’m in the same room.”

Your mouth drops open, “What?”

He nods his head, “I think Draco’s had this planned from the start. What do you bet this room only has one bed?”

You open the door to the room, and sure enough, only one bed lies there in wait.

Neville clears his throat, “I can find somewhere else to sleep if you’d like?”

You shake your head, “Don’t be silly. I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Neville comments; closing the door to the room behind him.

The atmosphere from the ballroom returns; the air in the room becoming charged with the electricity between you two.

No words are spoke between you as Neville takes you into his arms. You rise on your toes to meet him; your lips colliding. Neville takes control of the kiss; a side of him you had never seen before but one you find yourself craving to explore. He slows down the movement of his lips; slowing everything down to a languid pace so he can taste every inch of you. You moan into the kiss, biting his lip gently as you taste the remaining the bubbles of champagne he had drank with you not so long back.

He breaks with a kiss with a soft groan before starting to kiss along your jaw and down the expanse of your neck. His kisses are soft; the touch of his lips feather-light as his mouth trails down your neck. You tilt your head, giving him more access as his fingers doodle aimless patterns on your thigh.

“Neville,” You pant, “I’ve waited far too long for you to be gentle.”

He snorts; his hands fisting in the hem of your dress as he whispers against your skin “Patience is a virtue.”

His hands start to travel; memorising every inch of your body. You pull his mouth back to yours. His hand cups your neck as he continues to kiss you; your hands push the suit jacket from his shoulders before fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

Neville starts to walk backwards to bed; you following as you leave a hickey on his now bare chest. He falls onto the bed with a laugh; huffing slightly as you land on top of him. You can’t help the laugh at the escapes you as you straddle his hips; his hands immediately finding their place there, holding you tight enough to leave bruises.

You lean down, covering his mouth with your own. Already craving him after having one taste; wanting nothing more than to feel every inch of him against you.

You rock against him and he groans into your mouth; his hands now gripping the hem of your dress tight enough for it to rip.

Against his mouth, you whisper, “What do you say? Shall we prove them right?”

Neville’s answer is to flip you onto your back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed!!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


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